


Dragons Plant No Trees, Dragons Make No Homes

by butteredflame



Series: asoiaf drabbles [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-11-20 23:48:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11345655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butteredflame/pseuds/butteredflame
Summary: The King in the North has sailed south to Dragonstone to speak with Dany about something important.But Dany really doesn’t care.--A firstmeeting! one-shot at Dragonstone. Post-ADWD and for S7, trailer #2.





	Dragons Plant No Trees, Dragons Make No Homes

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the wonderful friends over at jonerysnetwork . tumblr . com .
> 
> Summary:  
> Daario has indeed been left behind with his Second Sons.  
> Dany’s been home for maybe a month.  
> Jon decides to let his hair down—  
> But is it for his comfort or to impress the Dragon Queen? 
> 
> Rated M but sorry, not for smut.   
> Please enjoy!

Dany stood at the battlements, gazing at the quiet sunset. The last time she stood at the edge of the Narrow Sea she had been gazing west from the free city of Pentos on the day of her wedding to her sun-and-stars. Now she gazed east, and at the times she squinted against the salt in the air, she could see a storm on the horizon and dreamt the rolling fog drifted from the broken, flaming fingers of Old Valyria. Dragonstone was not as warm as she had thought—the stones under her fingertips nor the weather. She had come to this side of the island to turn away from King’s Landing if only for a few minutes, but relief had been short and now she was exasperated with herself. _When I reach one home, I long for the other. Am I foolish?_ Or was something else calling her? 

The wind shifted, carrying footsteps to her ears. She turned just as an unfamiliar figure stopped before her. A shock of black hit her violet eyes, and they lifted, from boots to breeches, armor of boiled leather and below the cloak at his hip, the Valyrian longsword that should have been given to Ser Jorah—had he been worthy. Jon Snow had first arrived to her ancestral home in efficiently minimal battle armor and the look of a tired, almost cowed man. First impressions always proved bountiful, leaving Dany doubtful of his royal status in the—currently—independent North. She had not cared to hear what troubles his party had met on the journey southward, only wanting to hear what he wanted had of her. Lord—King?—Snow was the tenth in a succession of inquiries and requests from lesser lords brave enough to risk Queen Cersei Lannister’s ire with a visit to the Dragon Queen. He was every lord, that is, until the moment she listened to Lord Tyrion’s advising. Realizing she had more to do with the late Lord Eddard Stark’s bastard son—in fact, his last living son—than many of the others combined, she let him stay to rest for his journey home.

Windblown appearances only made a ruler seem more practical though be it, heavy handed. What mattered more to her was the man he became afterward, for how could he be a king if he could not behave as a lord? To her surprise, he cleaned up well and did not disappoint.  

“Your grace,” he greeted with his head bowed, eyes of coal peeking at her. “Forgive me if I've interrupted you.” 

She inclined her head. “There is nothing to forgive, Lord Snow. Is there something you wish to discuss?"

As he paused, lips pursing, eyebrows stitching, Dany balked at the halo of black curls framing his face. The volcanic stone was steady beneath her fingers, vibrating with the force of the waves as she turned away. Dany knew what this desire was. The last time she felt it was her first meeting of Daario Naharis, her Tyroshi sellsword captain. Now Dany was once again taken, pupils blown, lips parted:  _I wanted you since the moment we met..._

Shivers curled below the Queen's finely woven sleeves at the thought of yet another man of military might, unwinding her passions like the spider spins his web of silk. _A woman grown, I’ve crossed the world to reach my home. Yet my desires remain the same._ Titles differed Lord Snow and Daario, yet made them more of the same; for these days, king declarants were as numerous as sellswords.  

Lord Snow had shifted to rest his hands on the battlements in fashion to hers, yet he had not spoken. Where yesterday he was wounded eyes and tired movements, today he was tight lips and fine, layered leather. Her eyes narrowed on him, for she knew _this_ was who he was. _Perhaps I can crack him open_. She could try. 

“Try all I might,” she said, voice full of mirth, "I’m left unsure if you’re a Lord Commander or indeed, a King in the North. Otherwise, why would one wear so much black?” 

“Oh.” He glanced at himself. “The title is  _The_ King in the North, your grace.” 

She quirked a brow, allowing a small smirk. 

“And I always preferred darker colors.”  

Dany blew a heavy breath, feeling tethered to the shore. A shift, then another, and the wind flew into her ears, whistling a fine tune. Lord Snow was smiling sheepish. Clasping her hands before her, she said, “I’m sure you can understand my hesitance to accept your position. Everyone who enters this castle and walks my halls, knows what I want and what I will do to get it.” 

“Aye…I do.” 

She frowned, _But do you, Lord Snow?_

“Speak freely, your grace.” Her lips were in a tight smile, but she was satisfied to hear the words float out into the sea. “We are not enemies.”  

With the desired effect, Lord Snow straightened and met her gaze. Dany's thumb traced a thin line of blood embroidered into her sleeve, fingers seeking warmth.  

“You haven’t seen me at my best. When I arrived on your shore I was tired, and with only a few hours of good sleep I’ve my wits enough to come before you now. Yet I can only wish to speak the words I’ve carried with me…all the way here.” His gaze had shifted to the rocky shore, the expanse of sea, and the orange horizon. “You should know that my party doesn’t intend to stay any longer than you would have us.” 

Though she was growing impatient, Dany could hear more just beyond his clipped setup, so she listened for what he had really come to say. 

“Assure me all you want, your grace—I _know_. You take me for a fool.” 

“A fool is the least I take you for,” she said dryly.  

“Not a king, then. You see a boy, bastard playing at war. And you’re sure that once you’ve sacked King’s Landing you’ll steal north and take my home out from under me. I’ve come to tell you this first: we will not bend the knee. We desired sovereignty long before you arrived. Longer than you know.” 

Daenerys bristled so suddenly a wave of heat coasted through her, and for a heartbeat she heard the cry of one of her children sailing nearby on the wind. Poising for battle, with carefully picked words she turned to him.

“Careful, Lord Snow. Our alliance is cautious at best.” She turned to the sea. “I’ve come a long way to finally reach home, and now that I am poised to reclaim my birthright, minor disagreements like yours and mine can be difficult to traverse.” She sighed. “However, I don’t wish to subdue you." 

“You will let us be, then?”

“I didn’t say that.”

His frown deepened. “What _do_ you say?”

“Lord Tyrion advises me to wait for one game to pass before the next. If he’s right, I’ve many battles to fight before I even have the chance to burn Winterfell into submission.” Her eyes burned into his. “We will speak of this again, no doubt, but do not take my compassion for weakness, Lord Snow. The dragon feeds on wolf and bear alike. I _will_ have the North.”

His gaze was wild with provocation, nostrils flared in fury. Dany was aware of the sudden, very real discussion of war that had sprung between the young monarchs, for her words had still not been careful enough to deter a war cry. But below the ire, Lord Snow had a look that said he hadn’t quite expected his early proposal to soften her resolve; he was testing her.

 _Good,_ she thought. _He is naïve, but he is bold and observant. It is no wonder he wears so many scratches upon his face, alone_. Dany refused the smile that threatened to curl at her lips, choosing to focus on the way the air sizzled between their gazes, only cooling in the quiet that followed.

“I would know of your battles with Queen Cersei, as you plan them. The sooner you defeat her, the better for us all.”

“The False Queen, you mean? Speak of her truthfully.”

He took a deep breath and on exhale, another wave of desire coursed through her. Feeling heavy again she shifted, and her eyes caught his tight hold on the battlements. She met his gaze, finding eyes trained right on her. “Take King’s Landing if you must, but turn your eyes  _north_ as soon as it’s finished. We’ll need you, your dragons, and all the fighting men of the houses pledged to the Crown. _For the real war_.” 

Dany’s eyes widened with sudden recognition. _Mother of dragons, child of three._ The whisper floated to her ears, cold as the day they were born on the lips of the Undying. As she gazed into Jon’s beseeching eyes, distantly she wondered if he would be the final one to betray her. Her worries were minimal, however, because she was distracted by the amount of _fun_ she was suddenly having with the solemn king.

“What war so far north could possibly require every fighting man in the Seven Kingdoms?” she teased in an attempt to reach him.

Yet Lord Snow either didn’t catch on or didn’t care. As the wind picked up again, his voice was chilling. “Now that winter is here, your wars matter less each day. Storms will threaten to bury even the largest strongholds in snow. Soon the rivers will freeze, then the bays. Seven hells, the Wall may even fall with the right horn. When it does, there will be no stopping them.”

“What horn do you speak of? And who are _they_?”

Lord Snow had come to tell her, not his refusal to bend the knee, but the words that had paused on his lips. She searched his eyes for his secrets, but the Northern king only watched her. The man was unbowed by her intensity _and_ beauty, though at this point she gave a glare barely concealed below violet eyes. _It matters none_ , she thought. _He’s likely_ _holding enough information to trade with Lord Varys…_

Suddenly Dany realized how _little_ she knew of the land she had come to reclaim. Of course, during her early years in exile, the Princess of Dragonstone had been educated in the histories of the Seven Kingdoms before and after Aegon’s Conquest. With her brother Viserys, she’d learned of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, the descendants of whom he was the rightful Lord Protector and King. She’d learned of the thousands of years of peace the Children of the Forest enjoyed before the First Men arrived on the shores of the Shivering Sea. After hundreds of years of war, a brokered treaty encouraged a blending of cultures. The men of the North kept to their own in land, name and memory. Even their tree gods were queer. (But she would never reveal her thoughts to her knight.) Realizing that she knew the least of their ways, Daenerys closed her eyes and wished the Gods hadn’t been so ironic in sending Jon Snow to her.

She was more intrigued, however, convinced there was much more of him to be seen.

“You wouldn’t believe me yet,” he said finally, words floating, burning with the salt. “That’s enough for one day. We shall speak again, as many times as it will take to convince you by the time I leave.” 

“You try to _convince_ me? Of what?”

“Of the need for you to fight for your people and their future.”

“I am fighting. Even now I fight, with you!” 

“Going great, is it?” He shook his head, then bowed before she could say anything. “I’ll leave you now, your grace.” 

Dany steadied her eye down the length of the battlement, waiting for Lord Snow to disappear around the corner that, after some time, would lead him to the castle gates. When he was gone, she eyed the Unsullied guard standing just before the corner. Knowing the silent solider would not be _unreasonably_ alarmed, she cupped her hands around her mouth and screamed. 

_“Drogon!”_

Whereas yesterday she needed four shouts, today she only needed one. Within moments the large dragon dipped out of the clouds and appeared like a storm, large black wings clapping the air as he settled on the edge of the battlements. 

As Daenerys climbed onto Drogon’s back, her senses came alive: the rush of the freezing waves below, her child’s sweet scent wafting from the rivers of fire between his scales, the volcanic stone likened in his image by Targaryen sorcery long forgotten. She pressed her front to Drogon’s spine and closed her eyes, earning a bird-like purr from the dragon and her own wave of calm.

Moments passed with the ebb and flow of the sea, before Drogon began to shift and grumble. “Hush,” she whispered, soft enough that a choked gasp reached her ears. She peaked around Drogon’s large head—and found Lord Snow where he should not have been.

“Lord Snow!” she hissed. “What possessed you to approach so _closely_? _Stay still_!”

But he continued to step closer, and so Drogon took one great step forward, digging his sharp claws in the aged stone. He grumbled again then exhaled a light torrent of steam from his nostrils. Dany didn’t need to see to know one great eye of his studied Jon. To his credit, he calmed with each moment, shaking hands steadying as they fell to his waist. His eyes were wide on her child: afraid, yet hopeful in a way Dany hadn’t seen in a long, long time.

She softened her voice. “Jon.”

His eyes flickered to hers. A flush of heat crept up her chest and bloomed at her neck, but she paid it no mind.

“Raise your hand slowly to his snout.” 

His eyes widened some more, then he lifted his hand and looked between her and Drogon. “Like a wolf...?” Drogon sniffed closer, pressing his snout to Jon’s wide palm. “Like any other animal.”

“Almost,” Daenerys said, watching his awed expression. “Enough to trained. Enough to be loved.”

Jon gave a huff—something that was disbelieving and amused. Hand still on Drogon, he shifted forward and allowed the dragon to get a full scent of him. She tensed, waiting for Drogon to tire of him or refuse him, but instead she balked at the cheerful chirp the dragon made, shaking his head side to side with excitement. A smile lit the queen’s lips, shivering with relief so fierce she could only ride it out.

 _You aren’t dead,_ she thought. _You are here._

She didn’t know what her relief meant, but it felt right. 

“When I sail my fleet into Blackwater Bay, I’ll need you here, Lord Snow.”

He stopped. “What?”

“Stay here at Dragonstone. Get to know my household and more importantly, my counselors. If you and I are to ally, we had best know each other’s trusted ones. And if you are to keep the North from me, you should know what I’m capable of.”

“What is this?” he asked, bemused. “I thought dragons feed on wolf and bear alike? _No matter what.”_  

“They do a lot of things,” she said excitedly. “Dragons plant no trees. Dragons make no homes.”

She expected a smile at least, but the Northern king only furrowed his brows then looked to the sea, still petting Drogon. Daenerys placed a loving palm on a hot patch of scales just above Drogon’s right shoulder blade. She almost felt she could do this for a while, having someone around to give her dragons as much love as she would. Lord Snow broke her reverie then, when he turned his eyes to hers. In his deep depths she saw the angry rock below their feet and wondered how Dragonstone would fare in centuries to come.

For just a moment, she hoped he would help her make it so, somehow. 

“Dragons plant no trees, dragons make no homes.” He spoke slowly, as if trying the words out. “I wouldn’t say it’s wrong…but it doesn’t feel true. Does it, Drogon?” The dragon huffed, earning a chuckle from Jon. “You _are_ home, your grace. I don’t know why you would forget. I will never forget mine.”

Daenerys slid from Drogon’s back and landed with a solid _thud._ Then she moved to his front and, after nudging Jon aside, she placed her hand at his snout and whispered _Find your brothers_ in High Valyrian. The well-trained dragon flew off on her command and re-entered the clouds closing in. The orange sunset had lost its glow, and in its place muted hues filled the horizon. Yet it reminded her of the man before her and the feeling of comfort he had invoked in her. She asked him again. 

“Won’t you stay?”

“Will you give me a better reason?” He was big and rugged, dyed in dark hues head to toe. He was _handsome_ —and to Dany’s surprise, his gaze had softened. “I would, then.”

She was quite sure she wanted him there, for he reminded her of _home._ She felt…what Dragonstone was supposed to be. The words she needed came to her again.

“Go home to Winterfell. Tell your people they are safe from me. Then when I call on you, return to Dragonstone. I’ll need you to watch over the keep while I fight. If anything goes wrong…I assume I can trust you to keep my people safe and lead a battle with my fighting men, if you must?”

“Are you recruiting me for your war?" 

“You tried to recruit me for yours.” 

“Aye, I did…” He nodded to himself. “If we agree to join the other, it’s a deal. What do you say?”

Daenerys turned to the sea once again. Although the waters were growing choppy and the sky darkened with the storm and the night, her heart was racing and she felt buoyant. Dragonstone was no friendly island, having been raised with her ancestors’ own hands. Yet with Lord Snow’s beseeching gaze stealing hers and the first flakes of snow riding in on a charged breeze, Dany let go of her earlier exasperation entirely. _Perhaps I am not only a queen of war._ But even if she was, she had a true feeling that Jon would bring her home one way or the other.

 _If I must fight his war to discover how, so be it._ She would think about joining him.

In reply, she inclined her head with grace, beauty and power. His smile only melted her heart a little.

When they started the walk back to the main keep, Daenerys felt emboldened. But she still wondered of Dragonstone in the centuries to come. Would it crumble into the sea, or fold back into the sediment far below the current as if it had never been? Did magic ever _break_? 

Of course, it did.

Dany remained quiet the rest of the walk back—so quiet inside, she didn’t even feel the curious brush of Jon’s fingers on her own.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Drop a comment or kudos if you liked! 
> 
> Lots of love <3


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